By
modern standards, ventilation of the interior of a limited production
1950s Italian sports car like The Alfatross was often subservient to
design and performance concerns. I am not implying that The Alfatross
was deficient in that respect in comparison to other vehicles of the
period, but only that it seems awfully basic in this day and age when
few--if any--manufacturers still make cars that don't include air
conditioning and electric windows as standard equipment.
The Alfatross's concessions to creature comforts included fresh air vents below the dash on
the driver's and passenger's sides as well as large roll-down Plexiglas
windows (albeit without vent wings) and hinged quarter windows. Small
louvers in the top of the dashboard on the driver's and
passenger's sides combat fog forming on the inside of the windshield
with warm air from the heater beneath the dash. A
32 mm diameter stretchable air duct hose connects a pipe on the back of
the heater housing on the driver's side to the defogger vent on the
passenger's side. Under
the dash on the driver's side a little door in the back of the heater box can be opened to admit fresh
air. On the passenger's side ventilation is supplied through an 80 mm
hose controlled by a simple butterfly valve behind the glove box. The
bakelite handle on the valve had broken off long ago. Restoring it
turned into a major ordeal (the subject of a future post).
Taking up where I left off in the last post, after refining the fit and finish work on the firewall carpeting and insulation pads, I turned my attention to making all the repairs to the ventilation system and other details under the dash: repairing
the butterfly valve, running the defogger hose from the heater to the louvers on the passenger's side of the dashboard, getting the Tudor windshield washer to work, repairing a leak in one of the washer squirters, and re-routing
the odometer cable to keep it from interfering with the windshield
wiper crank arm. Turns out, 5 "little jobs" equals 1 Big Job and a lot
of practice mastering contortionist moves.
Working under The Alfatross' dashboard is not one of my favorite ways to pass the time. The interior is divided into two coffin-sized spaces on either side of the transmission and drive shaft tunnel protruding high into the cabin. The experience is strongly reminiscent of spending time in an MRI machine--but less comfortable. I figured out some tricks that helped, but there is no way to make the experience pleasant. When you are working alone, one trick is to take every tool you think you might possibly need when you wriggle in--nothing's worse than having to crawl out 15 seconds after crawling in because it turns out you needed an 11 mm open end wrench instead of a 10.
Next post will tackle the multi-step process of "re-manufacturing" the butterfly valve.
The fresh air and heater box on the driver's side under the dash. |
Air vent with butterfly valve on the passenger's side behind glove box |
Defogger vents on top of the dashboard as seen through the windscreen. |
The underside of the dashboard provides a stark contrast to the simple, elegant facade that greets the driver and passenger. The de-fogging hose weaves through it all. |
Working under The Alfatross' dashboard is not one of my favorite ways to pass the time. The interior is divided into two coffin-sized spaces on either side of the transmission and drive shaft tunnel protruding high into the cabin. The experience is strongly reminiscent of spending time in an MRI machine--but less comfortable. I figured out some tricks that helped, but there is no way to make the experience pleasant. When you are working alone, one trick is to take every tool you think you might possibly need when you wriggle in--nothing's worse than having to crawl out 15 seconds after crawling in because it turns out you needed an 11 mm open end wrench instead of a 10.
Next post will tackle the multi-step process of "re-manufacturing" the butterfly valve.